Spilled my heart out
by Dragonling743
Summary: Myka's stint in Helena's time as a vampire left the science fiction writer confused and more than a little angry. Especially when her promises to protect Christina went unfulfilled. Now the broken hearted writer has been forced out of retirement, and she plans on getting an explanation. Warning, I don't know how to keep the angst out.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It's been a while. I don't know if anyone really remembers the original story so I'll give a short synopsis of my AU. When the Warehouse exploded Myka found herself wishing too hard for her to be back with Helena. The mystical teapot of a certain Sultan named Aladin brought her her wish in a most unexpected way. Myka was sent back to Helena just a few years before Christina died. Myka had a few run-ins with a certain Count Dracula's amulet, and Bram Stoker himself resulting in her insane longevity, and aversion to sunlight not to mention a strength that lended itself to disbelief. Of course Myka became worried as her bond with this young Helena strengthened, that perhaps the future would be worsened by her presence. It was not until after breaking Helena's heart that she realized that every bitter action, and rage filled look from Helena had been caused by this abandonment that only Helena remembered. The story ended upon the moment that Myka understood just how much of Helena's trials were caused by her own hand. Now we skip forward into Helena's point of view.

Helena's POV

Binding. Searing. Revenge. That is why I am here, deeply pitted gravel grinding into my hands and knees. Light burned my eyelids as if a freshly lit filament were waiting to devour what little senses I had left. Metal tearing and screeching in my newly opened ears. The bitter tang of dreadful tears still lingered on my tongue. I couldn't even sort out all the smells around me, so many unfamiliar things. But I'm here. That is all that matters. I can finish this now. I can have her back.

The rage within did not pause as I did. Too long I had considered ways to have 'her' back that I could no longer rationalize between my Christina, and Myka.

A horrid weight fell on my shoulders, crushing what I used to believe was fine twined linen deep into my skin, tearing at my very pores with the rough fibers. The yank upon the other side of my shoulders forced my creaking joints to support a body that had been held up for over a century by dependable bronze.

Finally a shout settled next to my ear as the person holding me welcomed me. "Welcome home old friend." For a mere second I thought it was Myka, that eternal second was the length it took to register that this voice, this voice was male.

The agony of readjustment did not take nearly so long as the low voiced woman had declared. A mixture of my own willpower, and James' impatience had combined to leave me in a state of restless discomfort while he told me his plans. He made a great deal of impressive speeches, but on the whole I found him to be thinking very small. The years of my confinement had not been wasted in blurry red rage. Indeed my focus was quite clear. I shall understand this world, and then I shall judge it.


	2. Chapter 2

The first moment of discomfort I discovered since my bronzing was a rather jarring experience. My skin no longer screamed as new articles of clothing scraped over it, and the roar of little sounds had dimmed to a manageable din.

The means to my end resided in my old home. James organized my transportation to England. What he didn't tell me was the way in which I was to be ported across the Atlantic. I arrived at a large stretch of asphalt and could not help myself.

Giant metal tubes with wings along the sides were driving all over the giant stretch of pavement, and one was taking off just as the taxi came to a stop. "Bloody hell." I muttered, "And I thought Da Vinci was crazy." I reached forward to touch the driver's shoulder, "Excuse me sir, do you know what exactly it is that keeps those monstrosities aloft?"

"Look lady, I just drive the cab. Now get out so I can pick up a new fare." He replied brusquely, practically giving me the boot. It seems James had already provided him with wages.

I am ashamed to admit that after I made my way through the positively horrid security measures, I spent my hour of waiting pacing in the flight lounge. I'm sure I caused serious harm to my finger as I gnawed on it.

"Excuse me ma'am, do you need help with something?" One of the airport staff I assume. Her skirt stopped at the knees, and it looked stiffer than a freshly starched tweed suit.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Do people fly on those monstrosities frequently?"

"Planes?" She asked blankly.

"Of course the bloody.. Planes." I snapped. James had better well get me into that Warehouse. My inner inventor was highly interested about the development of such machines, but the my whole frame shook at the idea of entering a metal structure and then leaving the ground.

The woman shrank like any Victorian flower. It was disgusting. "Ma'am this airport services thousands of people each day. I assure you that we support the highest standard of security here."

I gritted my teeth and muttered, "Thank you madam." I wasn't given anymore time to ponder my potentially horrifying fate, as the check-in agent's voice sounded across the lounge calling women and children to board.

That awful trip was spent in a haze of clenched fists and bitten lips. I'm afraid I might have destroyed the armrest. The whole ghastly vehicle kept vibrating, with the occasional jerk. I promised a hundred times to murder Macpherson, and each promise came with a different method to keep myself occupied.

When the massive beast bounced to a stop with a screech to finish off the whole experience, I leapt out of my seat, making it to the front of the line to get out. It was not until the plane was far behind me that I realized I was home.

Ahh the faint hint of city smog, trees and… Where is it? England can't have changed that much. I forced myself to go inside, facing yet another security check before I could leave with all my things. Another taxi picked me up. I admit I stared like a small child. There it was, the Thames just as I remembered… But not. Her waters though still muddy were clean of the muck that filled them throughout my youth. All signs of dereliction had been dredged from her banks. No wonder I had missed the smell. It no longer existed.

Finally we arrived at the only thing that could have torn my gaze from the great expanse of skyline. My own home. It looked as if I'd left but last week, if one neglected the slight fading of the brick. "Dear Lord, nothing's changed." I murmured aloud, stepping out of the cab with my travel bag.

I trailed my fingers over the wrought iron fence, and the brick posts in awe. A plaque of burnished metal stood where the bell pull had once been. I had to touch it to make sure the pull wasn't hiding somehow. "H.G. Wells Home." Underneath it gave Charles' birth date and… The year of his death.

"You were right Charles. I couldn't fix the past, but this future is mine." I pressed a kiss to my fingertips and brushed them over the plaque before entering the building I once called home.


	3. Chapter 3

Inside was a horde of people tramping their ghastly shoes over my favorite carpet. Images of Charles lined every flat surface except one. That one place was the table I used to rest my pen upon. Whoever owned this place felt that it needed improvement with a lace doily and an obviously falsely aged book. The 'cracks' in the plastic material were too bright, and though it was supposed to be leather, one touch and I was sure. Even the table itself looked out of place sitting in the parlour instead of my study upstairs.

"Ma'am you're just in time for the guided tour." An overtly perky woman informed me. Her dreadful clothing was only mildly worse than the nasal tone of her voice, and nothing could be less welcome in that moment.

"I'll be just fine wandering on my own." I fought to hide the sneer.

"Oh no ma'am. I promise the experience is far better with a guide to answer any questions. Sign in right here and we can all begin." She shoved a plastic pen into my hand and nudged me into the end table. I set the ghastly thing down and swiftly signed 'Edward Moreau'. "Well isn't that beautiful handwriting." She mumbled, stepping away to lead the rest of the group.

The next two hours were spent listening to the worst mash-up of information about myself and my brother mixed into one. She kept roping me into things, it was most frustrating to wait after so many decades of waiting was deplorable. I kept as pleasant expression as possible under the circumstances.

Finally I escaped with the excuse of necessity. Indeed the only thing that did not aggravate me all day was the pair examining the guest book when I passed by. A beautiful woman in dress suit and pink silk blouse, and I think her partner. They both dressed in suits, though his tie was poorly made up, and his shirt was mussed. Altogether they made quite the pair. Opposites in every visible way.

My eyes traveled over the woman, she looked so familiar. No, she's not. No one here is familiar to me. The only familiar friend for me is my anger. I continued on my way but I could feel her eyes on my neck. For the first time in decades I smiled. It's nice to be wanted, watched. I remember Myka used to watch me, when she thought I was sleeping. Damn the woman.

Weakness has no place here. I searched for my office, but by the time I got around the other tour, and the strange pair, that annoying woman was back with her slack jawed tour group. I only sighed my way through another two minutes of annoyance before the pair in suits joined us.

"All right Wells, ths jig is up. We know who you are." The man of the pair blurted. At first I was a tad shocked, most everyone here thought I was a… Wait these are the warehouse agents? I stared at the two of them closely.

"Pete!" The woman hissed. That voice.

"No Myka, I'm sick and tired of this pompous guy just mocking us." With that the young man ripped off the quite fake mustache our 'host' was wearing. I had to cover my mouth to hide the unseemly giggle that burst from my lips. Everyone else was in shock; including the young man who had removed the mustache.

"I am so sorry for the inconvenience everyone." The woman stepped forward to curb her partner, and I couldn't help but stare. The voice was different but it was Myka. Her voice, it was warm and husky, colored only by embarrassment without pain. I hugged my waist with one arm, trying to hold myself back from her while I covered my dumbfounded expression with the other. The only thing I could have wanted was to hold her.

She handled the situation adeptly, urging everyone out on 'secret service' business. I don't know what secret service is, but the crush allowed me to be jostled away without her notice. I placed my notes on the end table in the study, and allowed myself to be showed out with the others.

I separated from those idiots as soon as the doors shut, and stepped into the gardens. Good Lord she is here. Actually here. Did she see me? Why aren't I angry? I could only feel relief, and the need to touch her, know her to be real again. How did I not recognize her before? How could I have been such a fool? I knew she was a warehouse agent.

"Helena get yourself together. It's time to get things sorted." I took a few deep steady breaths and entered my home once more.

A/N: Sorry about the wait. I'm still getting back into the groove of things.


End file.
